A Silent Surrender (Omegaverse)

Hiding the soul

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of Yoko’s hotel room, casting a pale glow across the space. Yoko stirred, her mind sluggish from a night of restless sleep. The events of the previous day weighed heavily on her, the rejections, the uncomfortable encounters, and the unspoken tension with Faye all swirling in her thoughts.

But today was a new day, and Yoko was determined to keep trying. She had come too far to give up now.

After a quick shower, Yoko dressed in one of her more professional outfits, hoping that it would give her an edge in the interviews she had lined up. She chose a simple but elegant blouse and a pencil skirt, paired with modest heels. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she adjusted her hair, pulling it back into a neat ponytail. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes dark with determination but tinged with uncertainty.

Yoko applied a light layer of makeup, just enough to look polished but not too noticeable. She wanted to present herself as competent and professional, someone who could handle any challenge thrown her way. But as she finished applying her lipstick, she caught a faint whiff of her own scent—lavender and vanilla, sweet and soft. It was a reminder of the part of her she couldn’t hide, no matter how much she tried.

Taking a deep breath, Yoko steeled herself. She couldn’t let her status as an omega define her. Today, she would walk into those interviews with her head held high, her skills and experience speaking for themselves.

The first few hours were a blur of offices, handshakes, and polite smiles. Yoko’s resume was impressive—top grades, strong work ethic, and a range of skills that made her a valuable candidate. But no matter how well the initial conversations went, there was always a moment when something shifted. Sometimes it was a subtle change in the interviewer’s expression, other times a more obvious hesitation. And then came the rejections, always framed politely but with a finality that left no room for argument.

By midday, Yoko had lost count of how many times she had heard the same excuses. “We’re looking for someone with a bit more experience,” or “We’ve decided to go in a different direction.” She knew the truth—they weren’t rejecting her because of her qualifications, but because of what she was.

After a quick lunch at a nearby café, where she picked at a salad more out of necessity than appetite, Yoko continued her search. She walked the city streets, her heels clicking against the pavement as she moved from one potential employer to the next. Each time, she hoped for a different outcome, but each time, she was met with the same polite dismissal.

As the afternoon wore on, Yoko’s determination began to waver. The city, which had seemed full of opportunity and promise when she first arrived, now felt cold and unwelcoming. The people she passed on the street barely glanced her way, their own lives carrying on without a second thought for the struggles of a lone omega.

By late afternoon, Yoko found herself standing in front of yet another building, her heart heavy with doubt. This was the last place on her list for the day, a small marketing firm that had advertised for an entry-level position. She had sent in her application on a whim, not expecting much, but now it seemed like her only hope.

The receptionist greeted her with a friendly smile as Yoko entered the office, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to feel a flicker of hope. She was ushered into a small conference room where a man, a beta with a warm demeanor, sat waiting for her.

The interview started off well enough. The man, who introduced himself as Mr. Saito, seemed genuinely interested in her experience and skills. He asked thoughtful questions, and Yoko found herself relaxing slightly as the conversation flowed.

But then, just as she thought things were going well, Mr. Saito’s expression shifted. It was subtle, a slight narrowing of his eyes, a faint tightening of his lips. He glanced down at her resume again, and Yoko braced herself for the inevitable question.